


How Long Are You Gonna Make Me Wait?

by inevitability



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitability/pseuds/inevitability
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it about Jean-Eric?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Long Are You Gonna Make Me Wait?

One thing that Formula 1 teaches you is how to pretend everything is fine when it isn't, how to put a face on for the media when the world is crashing in on top of you. You see it in everyone around you, the way they take failure and turn it into a perfect race next time. Even when the cracks appear, they're gone the next day, papered over, nothing visible, just smiles and jokes and utter self-belief. And it goes the other way too: success might come easier to some than to others, but whether it is fear of hubris, or false modesty, everyone goes with the line _you're only as good as your last race_ , knowing that life will be unbearable if you start proclaiming your own status as someone going places, just to have it all fall down around you.

And that's what makes Jean-Eric so fascinating to you. All the technical failures, all the sessions he's had to drop out of - they get to him. When something's gone wrong, he strides through the paddock, anger written all over his dark features. The dark glasses go on and they don't come off, not when he's talking to his team, not when he's talking to anyone, and if anyone minds it, they don't dare say anything. He might be one of the younger drivers of the grid, but there's something intimidating about him, even to the older drivers. When things are going well, when he's in his comfort zone, he's always the first to mess around, to flash the brilliant smile that makes all the women (and a fair chunk of the men) in the paddock melt, but that happens less and less these days.

What is it about him? He's tall and lean, something of a rarity in a world of short wiry types. His eyes are a deep brown, his lips red, and twisted more often into a pout than into a smile. His hair permanently looks like he's just got up, like it's had fingers curled into it just moments before. But it's not any one of these features, and it's not even all of these features together. There's something commanding about him, something that most people don't get until they're 30, 40, older even. And that quality, combined with his handsome dark looks, is intoxicating to you.

When Ricciardo was signed for Red Bull, you're pretty sure Toro Rosso had told Jean-Eric what his line should be. He should say he's happy for him. That he knows his chance will come. That it's the best choice for the moment. To smile and show that he's happy to still be driving for the sister team. But of course, Jean-Eric is not happy, even though Ricciardo seems to be his friend, seems to be the only one who gets away with teasing Jean-Eric, poking fun at his ever-changing facial hair, his interest in fashion, his lanky figure. But Jean-Eric is not happy, and he's not going to pretend to be. _I'm just as good as him_ he tells Sky, and if it comes out as petulant, you're pretty sure Jean-Eric doesn't care. 

Since Ricciardo was signed, Jean-Eric's moods get worse and worse, and so do his results. There are some drivers who seem to be born with luck on their side: the mechanical failures come when they are miles ahead of the pack, the blow-ups strike the car behind them however hard they push. Jean-Eric is not such a driver, and you watch him shovelling food down his throat before races with grim determination etched all over his face; as you give your own interviews, you see him out of the corner of your eye, telling reporters that of course he's not satisfied with the result, his PR kicking him slyly on the ankle in despair.

More than once you've noticed him looking at you; but why is he looking? In this game, everyone's looking at everyone else. Who's put on weight? Whose smile is painted-on? Who's allying themselves with whom this week? You stare back at him, not letting him intimidate you, even as your entire body tells you to walk in the other direction. You imagine those long fingers curling in your hair, those full lips crashing onto your own. There's no doubt that someone like Jean-Eric would demand to be in charge of any encounter. You could take that. You're sure of it.

But today, today you're on the bus, doing the parade, and you see the look that Jean-Eric shoots Vettel. And even Vettel, at the top of his game, so far beyond what any of the rest of them can hope to achieve, looks stunned at the unabashed lust in Jean-Eric's eyes. That's all it takes; Jean-Eric walks up to him, puts a hand on Vettel's shoulder and Vettel _giggles_ as if he's a soppy teenager and Jean-Eric is some bigshot, like he has this all wrapped up. And he does, you know it. Vettel eyes Jean-Eric's long body, not even attempting to disguise it, and after the race, you see them walking into the hotel together, Vettel prattling away as Jean-Eric eyes him blithely, an amused little smile on his lips.

You know though, that some day soon, Jean-Eric will look at you like that. You're good at playing the long game, you're good at waiting. Sometimes, that's all Formula 1 is about. Waiting, biding your time, ready to take the opportunity when the time comes. And you know, beyond anything, that Jean-Eric is worth it. He has to be.


End file.
